


The End Of The F**king World

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco, The End Of The Fucking World (TV)
Genre: Gay, Illegal Activities, M/M, Murder, Violence, basically teotfw but with ryden, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I'm Ryan, I'm 17, and I'm pretty sure I'm a pyschopath.-Ryden version of the TV show "The End of the F**king World"





	The End Of The F**king World

**Author's Note:**

> This is very based on TEOTFW, with lines often taken from it and stuff. It's basically a Ryden version.

I was eight when I realized I didn’t have a sense of humor.

I remember sitting at the dinner table with my father, picking at the plate of whatever we had to eat that night. My fork scraping along the glass plate, avoiding the food at all costs. I just liked the high pitched, scratchy noise the fork made. My dad hated it, so I continued to do it. That was what was funny to me. Not jokes, or pranks, or stupid pick up lines. That shit wasn’t funny, and never will be.

“Why doesn’t the queen wave with this hand?” My father would make idiotic jokes like this, waving his left hand in the air towards my third grade face, a wide grin on his aging face. “‘Cause it’s my hand!” He would then point to his hand, looking at me expectantly, like he thought I would laugh. Whoever came up with those jokes should die, there absolutely no way to make those funny.

I’d always wanted to punch my dad in the face.

When I was nine, he bought a deep fat fryer. He saw it on an American shopping channel. One day, I put my hand in it.

It hurt like hell. My skin was burned severely, and I had learned my lesson there. I wanted to make myself feel something. Anything.

When I was fifteen, I put my neighbour’s cat into a box and took it into the woods near our house. It probably had a name, but I had never cared to find out. I cut the poor thing open without even batting an eye. I know it was messed up. I’m not blind to the horror of it all: just indifferent.

After that, I killed more animals. Hares, rabbits, guinea pigs, rats, mice, ducks, birds, butterflies, bats, beetles, and miscellaneous rodents. I remember every single one.

Most people would say that’s messed up. They’d be right, it is messed up. That doesn’t bother me though, being messed up.

 

***

 

School was beneath me, but it was a good place for observation and selection, because I had a plan. 

I was gonna kill something bigger, much bigger.


End file.
